


Sirius Waits

by Dorasolo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorasolo/pseuds/Dorasolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius waits. Any moment now, somebody will realize that he is innocent. Somebody will take him to trial and truth and justice will prevail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sirius Waits

It is sometime in the middle of the night, past twilight and before dawn, but he only knows this because of the small window in his prison cell. He is lucky to have the window; not that he can see anything but the steely gray water as the waves crash against the rocks below. It is November and it is cold, but he is no longer sure which day in November it is. Maybe it is December? It stopped mattering the night James and Lily died. It has been one long stretch of loneliness and dwindling hope since he has been in Azkaban. Sirius waits. Any moment now, somebody will realize that he is innocent. Somebody will take him to trial and truth and justice will prevail. He paces. He transforms into a dog. He paces more, and tries to smell another human in the dank hallway, but cannot. Where is Remus? How could his Remus leave him here to rot while he casually sips his tea? It is unfathomable.

Where is Dumbledore? Why has it been silent since the day he was put into this hell of rocks and dampness and mold and time? He hears a noise and his ears perk, but he remembers to turn back into a human. He tries not to rush to the door of his cell and peer through the other tiny, barred window. Grey eyes seek out something, anything, and cringe immediately. It is his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, cackling and talking in her baby voice about how Frank Longbottom forgot to scream as he went mad.

A cold feeling of dread seeps into his stomach and crawls up his spine. He remembers what he has been trying to forget.  
__  
On Halloween, it all went wrong. He had seen Bellatrix in the streets that morning, dancing merrily in her insanity with fevered, flushed skin and too-shiny eyes, and he had known something was about to happen. She gloated triumphantly that the tables were about to turn. He spent the night in agony, not knowing where James and Lily were hiding, unable to warn them. Unable to verbalize his feeling of dread. Unable to find Remus or Peter. He drank until he blacked out.

The next morning he awoke, sick to his stomach, retching violently into the toilet in his flat. Celebration permeated the air but somehow he knew that James and Lily were dead. His suspicions were confirmed when he staggered out into the daylight, wondering where his motorcycle was, remembering that Peter had borrowed it. Somehow he knew that the mistake made had been his, but the details of the mistake were foggy. He growled in frustration, trying to piece it all together. Somebody had told Voldemort where his brother of hearts if not blood was hiding, and the bile rose again when he thought it could be Remus.

Staggering blindly, failing to tie his shoes or wipe his mouth from the morning's upheaval, he had found himself in Muggle London nearby one of the pubs the Order used to frequent before the prophecy forced everybody into hiding. Stepping inside, he sat down in a corner and listened to the murmurings. He frowned and took out his mirror, the one that matched James' mirror, the one that had been festering with disuse the past week while James and Lily were in hiding. It was, as it was the last fifteen times he had looked, empty. Sirius' mind whirled, nausea threatening again.

People were yelling about how Sirius was the secret keeper. Sirius opened his mouth to correct them, confused. Smelling treachery, he turned and saw Peter in the middle of London but instead of running up to Sirius, he looked queerly at him and started yelling. Peter had drawn his wand in his sleeve, a move he learned as a Marauder, but Sirius knew his moves. Sirius retaliated quickly, pulling his wand from his pocket, but the world exploded in a blindingly white flash and a noise so loud Sirius felt permanently deafened. He barely heard as he was shuffled in front of Crouch and accused of heinous crimes he had no energy to defend himself against. He was defeated; he was a guilty man. He deserved the harshest punishment for his crimes.

Snapping back to the present, he frowns. Dumbledore thinks he is at fault, letting Barty Crouch condemn him to Azkaban without a trial the way he did. Why would somebody like Dumbledore write him off, just assuming he was evil? It puzzles him. James, he knows, would have held the entire Wizengamot at wandpoint before he would have ever let Sirius get carted off to prison. Of course, if James were alive, he probably wouldn't be in this mess at all. He sighs and cringes anew at Bella's baby sing-song voice. He peers at her through the small window on the door.

Sirius waits. Any second now, the world will right itself.

And on a warm day twelve years later, when his voice barely has any resonance in it, he sees Wormtail in a picture in the newspaper. The explosion never killed Wormtail, as he has thought all of this time, and his blood roils in anger. This is the time; the time is now. Calling out to Bellatrix, who has indefinitely gone mad, he creates a diversion.

He escapes. He will wait for his chance. Justice, his cruel mistress, will be served.


End file.
